


I'm Not Calling You A Thief

by KatStratford



Series: Bucky Barnes, Patron Saint of Desperate Nurses [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes is unreasonably charming, Comfort Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatStratford/pseuds/KatStratford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky spends a day with an ornery French Resistance fighter.</p>
<p>
  <i>“I wish we could talk. I know Hugo said you’re his sister. I’ve got three sisters, and I think they’d all be as brave and grumpy as you in the middle of this damn war.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Calling You A Thief

Sabine spent months learning to move through the farmhouse without making any noise, avoiding creaking floorboards and loose stairs, and now here were the Americans sounding like a herd of foul-mouthed elephants in her basement.

 

<”Tell them to shut up,”> she hisses at her brother, <”before Hitler hears them from Berlin.”>

 

Hugo grins at her. <”They’re not exactly a stealth unit, are they?”>

 

<”They’re going to get us killed.”>

 

<”You say that about everyone who comes through. I’m starting to think you don’t really get the idea of running a safe house.”>

 

Now the Americans are arguing. “It’s a sprained ankle, not a gunshot wound!” That’s the dark-haired one with the limp. Bark? Buck?

 

“You can barely walk, Bucky.” Bucky; that’s the name. Spoken by that leader,  _ Captain America _ . She rolls her eyes at that bit of ridiculousness.

 

“I don’t need to walk! All I gotta do is lie in a foxhole and keep lookout for you idiots.”

 

“And how are you going to get there?”

 

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Hugo kicks the floor and calls, “Unless you want to fight HYDRA from here, keep it down.”

 

The argument recedes to a furious hum beneath them and Sabine surveys the pantry and wonders how they’re going to feed eight men if they wind up stuck here for days. Finally, there’s a knock at the floor. Hugo lifts the hidden door and the grim-faced captain says in horribly-accented French, <”Are there any targets besides the castle around here?”>

 

<”Let me bring down the map,”> Hugo replies. <”Does your man need that ankle looked at? My sister’s a nurse.”>

 

The last thing Sabine wants is to deal with a swaggering American, but she supposes this is what she signed up for.

 

“Yeah. Hey, Buck, let her look at your leg. That’s an order.”

 

<”Get him up here. My kit’s in the bedroom,”> Sabine says, turning and walking away.

She feels bad for her attitude when she catches the grimace on Bucky’s face as he sits on the bed. She taps his ankle and pats the bed. He raises it with a grunt and asks, “You speak English?”

 

<“Not for you,”> she replies.

 

“That’s good. I can tell you that this really fucking hurts, then.”

 

<“If it’s broken, you’re fucked,”> she agrees pleasantly. With his boot off, she can see the swelling. It’s not terrible, but he’s certainly not going to be walking on it by tomorrow. <“This is going to hurt,”> she says, frowning at him and placing her fingertips on either side of his ankle.

 

He nods and sets his jaw, understanding her. He’s covered in sweat by the time she finishes examining him and wrapping his leg. It’s a mild sprain, but it’ll be a few days before he’s marching anywhere.

 

She finds a few pillows to prop up his leg. Then she wraps him in her old soft quilt and wipes the sweat from his brow. She can’t in good conscience send him to sleep in the damp cellar, which is frustrating because he’s in her bed.

 

She goes out to Hugo and says, <“Tell him it’s not broken and he can sleep up here tonight. I’ll take watch.”>

 

<“You tell him,”> Hugo says, amused. 

 

<“I don’t want to hear the American pick-up lines. The French ones are bad enough. Come on, protect your little sister.”>

 

<“You need as much protection as a viper does,”> Hugo snorts, but he heads for the bedroom.

 

He re-emerges and says, <“He’s already asleep. You’ll have to tell him in the morning that the Commandos and I are going to take out the SS headquarters eight kilometers from here.”>

 

Sabine wishes she had a skillet in her hand to slam down on the table. These idiot men and their death wishes. She joined the Resistance to try to keep them all from charging headfirst into their graves, but it hadn’t done a damn bit of good. She and Hugo have had this same goddamn conversation thirty times, so she just gives him a dark look and says, <“Bucky will be angry.”>

 

<“You’ll be fine,”> Hugo says, patting her arm. <“You don’t speak English, remember?”>

 

***

 

Bucky isn’t angry; he’s  _ furious _ . Sabine lets him bang around her bedroom and curse while she brings a stool and one of the kitchen chairs out to the wood pile. Then she hands him an axe and points to the makeshift chopping station she’s created for him. <“Make yourself useful,”> she tells him.

 

He half-heartedly hacks at the wood for an hour (everything helps, she reminds herself, glaring at him anyway) before limping back into the kitchen and sitting heavily at the table. He glares right back at her. “If those idiots make it back here, I’m gonna kill them myself,” he tells her darkly. She suppresses a giggle.

 

She’s boiling a few chopped potatoes and rosemary from the overgrown garden. She drops the makeshift soup in front of him and shrugs in apology. 

 

She tucks into her lunch and keeps her head down. Hugo and the Commandos are due back at sun-up tomorrow. With any luck she can get by until then without having to say anything to the American. Bucky’s tapping on the table, hesitant at first then insistent, ruins her plan. She finally looks up at him with the biggest sigh she can manage.

 

He points to himself and says, “Bucky.” Then he points to her. She realizes she never gave him her name.

 

“Sabine,” she says curtly.

 

“Sah-bean?” he repeats.

 

She shakes her head and repeats her name.

 

“Su-bean-uh?”

 

<“Close enough. Can we stop talking now?”>

 

He stares at her for a moment, then smiles, which completely transforms his face. It takes him from looking like a granite monument to a good, dead soldier to the sort of carefree young man she might have flirted with in a cafe long ago. “I wish we could talk. I know Hugo said you’re his sister. I’ve got three sisters, and I think they’d all be as brave and grumpy as you in the middle of this damn war.”

 

Sabine chews her potatoes determinedly. Bucky continues. “I hope your brother’s a good shot. Stevie’s good at making plans and keeping everyone else out of harm’s way, but for himself?” He shakes his head. “Never had an ounce of self-preservation, that one.”

 

She wants to tell him that Hugo’s just the same, but she doesn’t think that’ll make him feel any better. And she doesn’t want to talk to him anyway. She rubs a hand over her face in frustration. When she looks at him again, he’s stood and is limping his way along the table. At her look, he gestures towards the backyard and says, “Gonna take out my worries on the wood pile.” But when he reaches the end of the table, his bad ankle buckles and Sabine just barely catches him as he crumples to the floor.

 

She scolds him as she leads him back to the bedroom. <“You’re one to complain about the Captain lacking self-preservation,”> she mutters, dumping him on the mattress. He’s pale and sweating again, so she checks to make sure he hasn’t further injured his ankle. 

 

When she’s done, he catches her forearm and pulls her to his side. “Please,” he says, looking at her with naked hope. He pats the bed next to him, points to her, and says, “Sit with me?”

 

She wants to yank her arm away and slap him; grab her rifle and run until she’s caught up with her brother; spend her day murdering Nazis. But she guesses that’s what he’d rather be doing with his day too. So she sits and lets him rest his head against her shoulder. She picks up the pistol on the night table and checks that it’s fully loaded. Then she pats his knee and says, <“Rest.”> She gestures with the gun. <“I’ll keep us safe, okay?”>

 

He gives her that brilliant grin again and kisses the corner of her mouth. “You’re a hell of a girl,” he murmurs with a yawn, asleep the moment his eyes close.

 

He sleeps until sundown, at which point he takes the gun from her hand and nods to her. She uses the outhouse then roasts more potatoes for dinner. “My leg’s feeling better,” he says conversationally as they eat. “The sleep on an actual bed helped, I think.” He gives her a sly grin. “Not that you give a fuck. Christ, you got a glare that could peel paint. All French girls as hard as you? They oughta send you against the Krauts. I bet you could crack some skulls.” The words aren’t exactly sweet, but the admiring tone in his voice certainly is.

 

Sabine hides her smile and takes their dishes to the sink. When she turns back, she sees that Bucky has dragged two chairs over to the kitchen window and is assembling his rifle. "I'll keep watch tonight," he says when he sees her looking. "I've stolen your bed long enough."

 

Sabine just stares at him. Something about the rifle on his lap has transformed him back into a blank-eyed soldier, not the brash, kind boy she spent the day with. 

 

“You come to bed too,” she says, carefully, in English.

 

He snorts and shakes his head. <“I knew it,”> he replies in equally careful French.

 

She stomps over and smacks his shoulder and he falls out laughing. “Why am I getting hit? I didn’t do anything!”

 

“You lied!” She says, desperately trying to remember everything she’s said today.

 

“You lied first!” He protests, still laughing, somehow delighted instead of angry at her.

 

“Put down the gun,” she says, pulling on his hand. “Now you must talk to me.”

 

<”My French is terrible,”> he says with a smile.

 

“We practice,  _ oui _ ?” She smiles back.

 

They sit across from each other on the bed and piece together a conversation about their families. He tells her Steve’s - the Captain’s - mother was a nurse like her mother, and she gathers that she also died before the war. “I was sad. I am sad,” Sabine tells Bucky, speaking of her mother. “But I am happy she did not live to see this war.”

 

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I never tell my Ma what it’s really like over here.”

 

“You tell your sisters?” She asks curiously. She just has Hugo. She can’t imagine what it would be like to have family waiting for her. She doesn’t think she’d like carrying the weight of their worry.

 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “Jesus, no. I want them to be proud of me.”

 

Sabine reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing as hard as she can, feeling something fierce tear loose in her chest. It astonishes her that someone else realizes this fucking war is a tragedy for every person in it.

 

Bucky gives her a watery grin, then squints. “Do you have a…” she doesn’t understand the last word and tells him so.

 

He leans over and takes her hair in one hand, making a combing motion with the other. “Oh.  _ Peigne _ . Yes.”

 

“Go get it?” He says, and she thinks he wants to brush his own shaggy hair. But when she returns from getting the comb, he gestures for her to sit next to him like she had that afternoon. “Turn a bit,” he says, patting her hip, and she realizes he wants to brush  _ her _ hair.

 

“What?” She says, hoping the one word can convey how confused she is at the moment.

 

“My sisters,” Bucky says, gathering her hair at the base of her neck, “used to make me help with their hair. Nadine did Anna’s hair, Rebecca did Nadine’s, and I did Rebecca’s.” She can hear the warmth in his voice as he begins sectioning her hair. “I’m only telling you this because there is no way on earth it will get back to them, but I kind of miss it.”

 

He’s split her hair like he’s going to braid it, but he pauses and says, “Is this all right?”

 

She laughs, because men have come through here and tried so much worse with her without even saying hello, and here he is all polite and ridiculous. “Yes,” she says.

 

Sabine expects a simple braid, like the ones she gives herself, but he surprises her again by quickly and expertly weaving her hair into a smooth French braid. It’s the first time since the war started that anyone has touched her gently, and she wants to melt into his hands.

 

“There,” he mutters as he finishes. “Can I see?”

 

She turns toward him and smiles. He smiles back so hard that his entire face crinkles up, and Sabine can’t help but put her hands on his cheeks. His face goes soft and he says, “You gonna deck me if I kiss you?”

 

“Deck?” She asks, though she can guess what it means.

 

“Knock my block off.  Put my lights out.  Punch,” he replies, confirming her suspicions.

 

She puts a scowl on her face and says, “What if I say ‘maybe’?”

 

He leans back against the headboard and says, “Then I’ll wait until you make up your mind, because I do not need a broken face to go along with my bum foot.”

 

Sabine cackles, then arranges herself so that she’s stretched out against his side from shoulder to ankle. “I have made up my mind,” she says.

 

Bucky smirks. “I believe you, but I’m still gonna let you lead,” he says, and she smiles back as she bends to press her lips to his.

 

He reaches over to put a hand on her hip but stays put otherwise, kissing her chastely until she moves back, sighs, and says, “Did no one tell you about French girls?”

 

“They did,” he says, looking at her from under heavy eyelids. “Tell you the truth, I’m a little intimidated. Maybe you could.” He pauses and licks his lips, and he  _ must _ know how obscene it looks. “Take the lead again?”

 

She gestures to his mouth and teases, “This works on American girls, yes?” Before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and biting gently. He groans low in his throat and his other hand moves to her waist. Sabine sooths the mark with her tongue and swings her thigh over his legs to straddle him. His breath hitches.

 

Bucky slides his hand up her side to cup her jaw with his fingertips, tilts her head up, and puts his mouth on her neck. Sabine melts into him, but he keeps his hands firmly on her waist as he kisses down her neck and across her collar bones. 

 

She, on the other hand, lets her hands roam over his arms and chest, rubbing low on his stomach and enjoying the punched-out noise that gets from him. She leaves her hands there, wondering if it would scandalize him if she moved to the buttons on his pants. When he returns to her mouth and kisses her deep and rough, she decides it’s worth the chance and presses a hand over his cock, which jumps against her palm gratifyingly.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says raggedly. “Please. Don’t. If you want to, I mean, it’s all right, but don’t.” Sabine clasps her hand around his cock and he groans. “Don’t tease.”

 

She shakes her head against his shoulder. She doesn’t know how to tell him that she hasn’t had a sexual thought since the war started; she doesn’t plan to play coy now. So she reaches for the front of her blouse and begins undoing the buttons. He takes a deep breath and pulls his own shirt up and off.

 

The two of them make quick work of her brassiere and then he’s cupping her breasts in his hands as she bites at his chin and scratches her nails through the patch of hair in the center of his chest. His kisses become frantic as she presses her bare skin to his, and he rolls his thumbs over her nipples until Sabine’s shivering, the heat between her legs impossible to ignore any longer.

 

So she tilts over until her foot hits the floor and climbs off of him, bending back to kiss the bereft look off of his face. “You say, ‘don’t tease,’” she reminds him as she unfastens her skirt and peels off her drawers. “I don’t.”

 

He goes completely slack-jawed at the sight of her naked body. It reminds Sabine of the whistles and winks she used to get in the streets, but a thousand times more gratifying. She puts a hand on her hip and gestures towards his pants with the other. “Your turn?” She says.

 

“Huh?” He says, unabashedly staring at the unruly patch of hair above her cunt.

 

She bends forward until her eyes catch his. “You must be naked also? For this to work?”

 

“Right! Yes,” he says, yanking at the buttons on his fly and shoving his pants and underwear down under his ass, careful not to jostle his injured ankle. His cock slaps against his stomach and Sabine reaches over to give it a friendly squeeze. <”I’d almost forgotten what they look like,”> she mutters to herself, forgetting that he can understand her until he bursts out laughing. She blushes to her roots.

 

“Same,” he says through his laughter. “But, you know, on the lady side.”

 

“Do you think,” she starts as she climbs back onto him, letting his cock drag over the curve of her belly. “We remember what to do?”

 

He pulls at her braid, smiles, and says, “I really hope so.”

 

Sabine settles herself, knees at his hips, feet at his knees. She reaches out to rub the head of his cock over her cunt and sighs at the heat and pressure against her. Bucky splays his hands out against her ribs and says with difficulty, “I’m gonna let you lead again.”

 

She honestly isn’t sure she remembers what to do, especially when she totally fails to get him inside of her on the first try, her cunt giving the sudden intrusion of his cock a decided  _ non _ . She goes slower the second time and is easing down onto him carefully when she’s hit by a sudden attack of the giggles.

 

“Oh no,” he says. “Don’t make me.”  Then he’s giggling too, pressing kisses across her shoulders as he laughs. When they finally get themselves under control, she’s got her hands tangled in the hair at the back of his neck and his cock deep inside her.

 

“Go slow,” he says, nuzzling her cheek. “I want to make this good for you.” She wants to make fun of him for trying to be chivalric while bare-ass on a dirty bed in the middle of a war but finds she’s too grateful. 

 

Instead she takes his hand, kisses it, then sucks two of his fingers into her mouth. He gasps and jerks up into her, and she feels a spike of desire run up her spine, like her body has finally caught up to what’s happening. She pulls his fingers out of her mouth and guides them down to her cunt. “Rub?” She asks, and he says, “Yeah, got it.”

 

He does. And as she rocks onto his dick and his fingers, Sabine breathlessly teases, “You keep the American girls happy?”

 

He grins, eyes bright and a little bit blurred with pleasure. “I like to think so, yeah. Why, you want my references?”

 

She wants to joke back, but finds she’s lost the ability to speak as he finds the perfect rhythm and strokes and fucks her into a breath-stealing orgasm. He kisses her through it, then slightly desperately says, “Sabine, honey, can you get on your hands and knees?”

 

“Your ankle,” she says, but she’s moving even as she objects, because, jesus, a good, hard fucking on her knees sounds amazing right now.

 

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” 

 

She turns and bends, her ass in the air, presented to him. She leans on her folded arms and can hear him arranging the pillows and carefully turning himself. Then one of his hands is on her hip and the other is petting at her cunt as he murmurs, “Look at that, so pretty,” and he’s opening her up again with his cock, sliding in easily and feeling fucking gigantic from this angle.

 

He groans, holds himself tense and still for a moment before easing into a steady, hard rhythm, that leaves Sabine gasping into the sheets. She feels him start to come before she hears him, his cock swelling and shooting hotly inside of her. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh.”

 

Sabine falls forward onto her stomach as he leans back towards the headboard. She takes a moment to catch her breath, then rolls out of bed, finds a rag to clean herself up, pours some water from the kettle, and drinks a cup before bringing him some. She checks his ankle (fine) as he drinks, and when he smiles indulgently and says, “Come here, will you,” she goes, tucking herself under his arm and falling asleep immediately. 

 

Bucky wakes her before dawn, re-weaving the pieces of hair that have fallen out of her braid. The shotgun sits across his lap. “I figure you and Hugo have a signal?” He says softly.

 

“Mmm,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Yes,” she sighs. “We do.”

 

“Sorry,” says Barnes. “But I figured it was better than waking up to my squadron leering at you.”

 

“Yes,” she says sleepily as she gathers her clothes. “Thank you.” She dresses and picks up her pistol, sitting by the window and thinking absent-mindedly about the prior evening. She hopes he doesn’t have a VD. Hugo would give her no end of shit if she caught one. She supposes he could have gotten her pregnant, but she doesn’t particularly think she’s going to survive another nine months, so she’s not going to worry about it.

 

Bucky comes over and places the quilt from her bed over her shoulders. Sabine pats his hand, but doesn’t look at him. He’s leaving today. Best not to encourage him (or herself).

 

She hears him putting the kettle on and a few minutes later he hands her a cup of something. It looks and tastes like dirty water.

 

“What is this?” She asks, drinking it anyway.

 

“Supposed to be coffee. Think it’s actually dust,” he replies, pulling a chair up next to hers. He reaches into his pocket. “You smoke?”

 

“When I can,” she replies with a chuckle.

 

He pulls out a cigarette and says, “Share?”

 

“ _ Oui, s’il vous plaît. _ ”

 

He lights it over the stove, and when he returns to the chairs, Sabine holds up the quilt so he can tuck under it next to her. They pass the cigarette back in forth in silence and somehow it feels even more intimate than fucking him had.

 

“You think you’ll survive to the end of the war?” He asks casually as he stubs out the cigarette under his boot.

 

She snorts. “No, of course not.”.

 

He barks out a laugh. “You tell Hugo that?”

 

“Yes. He gets mad. Why?” 

 

“Ah, Steve gets mad at me too when I say it. He’s like a brother. Just wondering if they’re all like that, I guess.”

 

Sabine leans her head on his shoulder. “I think they all are, yes.”

 

***

 

She hears Hugo’s whistle just as the rays of the sun are beginning to bother her eyes. She unlocks the door and Bucky takes the quilt back to the bedroom. Hugo, the Captain, and the commandos pile in, dirty and tired but giddy with success.

 

<”These fuckers are  _ crazy _ ,”> Hugo says, kissing her cheeks. <”But amazing shots. If that Barnes is better than all of them, he must by inhuman.”>

 

<”He speaks French,”> Sabine says with a smile, and Hugo’s raucous laughter attracts the attention of the Captain, whose white smile contrasts with the mud on his face.

 

The Captain walks over and pulls on her braid. “He misses Becca,” he tells Sabine, and she feels her eyes fill with tears. She glowers at him and gives him a hard poke right where his arm meets his body. “Hey!” He exclaims. “What’d I say?”

 

“You take care of him,” she says vehemently, which is entirely not what she’d meant to say.

 

The Captain’s face softens instantly, and he raises his hand like he’s going to touch her face, before thinking better of it and dropping his arm. “I’ll do my best,” he tells her earnestly.

 

Sabine hugs him tightly, unsure if he can even feel it through his layers of armor. He pats her back awkwardly and says, “Okay?”

 

Hugo reaches over to pat her forehead and says, “Sabine, did you eat anything strange while we were gone?” She hits him, hard, and he grunts out, “Nevermind.”

 

They stay until nightfall. Dernier and Jones, who is apparently the reason they all speak French, tell her undoubtedly embellished tales of their glorious triumph over the Germans. Hugo hands her a bag of purloined rations and ammunition that speaks more realistically to their success. Bucky plots with the Captain and avoids her completely. Sabine is fine with this. Absolutely fine.

 

When it’s time for them to leave, Bucky suddenly can’t find his rifle. <”You’re supposed to be a sniper,”> Sabine scolds, following him into her bedroom.

 

He laughs and catches her around the waist, kissing her quick and hard. “See you after everything?” He asks.

 

“Yes,” she says. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a 3rd story in this series solely because it finishes the "I'm not calling you a..." list in the Florence & The Machine song I stole my titles from. Then Sabine popped up in my head looking like Eva Green and hating Bucky on sight and somehow this fic ended up 4,000 words long.
> 
> I don't actually know anything about the French Resistance, which is probably pretty obvious to those who do. I just wanted to stick Bucky in a farmhouse with a girl.
> 
> [Find me here](http://katrinastratford.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


End file.
